Breakthrough
by Ishie
Summary: Sixth year: Harry struggles to understand his place in the world and his relationships with the people around him. WARNING: Contains spoilers for OotP!!! *Chapter Five is here*
1. An Unexpected Confession

**Disclaimer:** They're not mine; they're Ms. Rowling's. They just jumped into my head one day and started thrashing around. I had to let them out somehow! I can't lay claim to the idea either. I have no clue where it came from or where it's heading. I just hope it doesn't leave anytime soon.

Any similarity between this and other fics is entirely coincidental. If you see something you recognize, please let me know. I don't want to step on anyone's toes!

Extra thanks to my beta, She Who Must Not Be Named, and my Brit-picker, Laucia. Any mistakes you find are entirely my fault!

~

A/N: Thanks to the wonderful **any** for the use of Varlerta and "music as magic." Run, don't walk, to read her stories at FictionAlley.org!! (Titles are Subplot and Unplottable) She is doing wonderful things with character development and changing perspective. And you need to be reading it, NOW!

The Latin in this bit translates as follows: _Emodulari_ (to put to music, to sing/celebrate) _Munitus_ (fortified). Oh, and does anyone out there know how to conjugate Latin? I suck at it.

Last note, I promise! This is very much a raw piece. I don't know if it'll lead to anything more (I *hope* it will) but I would greatly appreciate any feedback you'd like to give! 

======

"You complete prat!" Ron shoved his fingers through his hair, further dishevelling the ginger mop. 

"How... why? What were you thinking?"

Harry dropped his eyes to the floor, unable to meet Ron's inquiring gaze. "I don't know. It just, you know, happened. It isn't as though I planned it or anything."

His voice trailed off into the empty dormitory. The silence between the two friends stretched on. Harry was suddenly struck by the thought that their words were floating over their heads, dark clouds which could rain down on them at any moment. He could feel his cheeks burning with embarrassment and shame. He stared at Ron's battered brown lace-ups as if there were an explanation written across the toes. Of course, there was nothing there but a faded stain from the infamous Pumpkin Pie Incident at the Halloween Feast. 

Harry felt a corner of his mouth quirk upward for a moment while he remembered: Hermione with a clump of pastry sliding out of her hair, an outraged expression in her eyes; Neville and Seamus, hiding their giggles behind massive napkins; Ron, shrieking and ducking as Hermione lobbed a whole pie at his head in retaliation. Unfortunately, as he ducked, Ginny had turned round to speak to someone. If he lived to be a thousand years old, Harry didn't think he'd ever forget the look on her face as the pie made contact and splattered on everyone within three yards.

The smile trembled on his lips for another instant then fell away as he remembered his present conversation. Hesitantly, he raised his eyes to Ron's face. He waited for a violent outburst, either verbal or physical. Ron could hardly be praised for his reticence under any circumstances. Harry's eyes widened when he saw Ron cover his face with his freckled hands, his shoulders quivering slightly. He opened his mouth to speak but could not force the words to form. It was as though they were being dragged from his mind into the swirling cloud overhead. As though the ceiling had suddenly become a verbal Pensieve, draining the apologies and self-recriminations while still half-formed.

Ron huffed lightly through his hands. When he spoke, the words were muffled and shaky. "Yer a buddy _gee_-nuss, 'arry!" 

"Wha- What?" Harry stared, uncomfortably aware that his mouth was flapping open. His lips and tongue moved but could only shape one word. "Y - What?!"

Ron suddenly clutched his belly and toppled backwards onto his bed. He was making a strange noise; one so bizarre Harry couldn't immediately identify it. It was a cross between a grunt and a hoot and Ron just lay there, repeating it again and again, getting progressively louder with each repetition. He sounded, oddly enough, like Pigwidgeon with a cold.

Harry opened and closed his mouth a few more times. The words would still not come. He collapsed heavily onto his bed and stared at Ron in shock. _He's laughing?! What is he laughing about? He should be chucking things at my head! This is ... well, mental._

"Oh ho! Oh, the look on his face! That was bloody brilliant, Harry! Ah ha ha! He won't be talking out of turn anytime soon, I reckon." Ron rolled to his side, still clutching his belly and gasping slightly. The few sentences he had uttered seemed to have spent all his breath. He focused his eyes on Harry's face and promptly burst into helpless laughter again. 

Harry shook his head, hoping the movement would realign his brain enough to allow coherent speech. "You - you're not angry? After what I said out there? About me and, and ... Ginny?" His voice cracked slightly on the last word. He fervently prayed Ron hadn't noticed, although the way he was laughing, it wasn't likely he'd heard any of it.

Ron wheezed as his laughter finally subsided. He looked at Harry again and visibly struggled to keep the hilarity at bay. It took some doing; he wasn't very good at controlling his outbursts. After a few moments of contorted expressions and the occasional grunty hoot, he seemed to have regained his composure enough to speak.

"Harry, the look on his face was priceless. Why would I be pissed off? It's not like you meant it or any-" He trailed off as Harry's expression finally registered. "Bloody hell," he breathed. "You did mean it, didn't you?"

Harry squeaked in distress. How was he going to explain this to Ron? He didn't even understand it himself! Until the words had left his mouth in the corridor, he hadn't realized how he felt. It had been as much of a shock for him as it had been for Colin.

_Although, you have been spending a lot of time watching her lately_, a voice in his head accused.

_Shut up!! I have not! And if I have, it's just because I'm worried about her. It doesn't mean anything. Shut UP!_

He screwed his eyes up, fists clenching against his thighs. The voice in his head sounded dangerously like himself as a six-year-old, whinging and wholly unconvincing. And he couldn't fight that first voice, not if he wanted to defend himself against Ron.

He opened his eyes to find Ron advancing on him across the room. He squeaked again, then decided that he really ought to start talking. Especially if he didn't want to die in the next few minutes or, more likely, spend the next several hours belching slugs all over himself.

"I didn't mean it! I mean, I meant it, but not like it sounded! When Colin - I - he said that about Ginny and I couldn't just stand there. You were going to hex him! Or something. So I said something. Granted it was stupid, but I wasn't thinking! It just came out!" 

_Oh great, that was brilliant. Smooth as silk. He'll back right down now. Good going, Harry. Blather on!_

Harry sucked in a deep breath in preparation for launching another verbal defence. Before he could start, though, Ron was on him, knocking him to his back on the bed. His ginger hair stuck out in wild disarray, his eyes were red-rimmed and full of some emotion Harry didn't recognize. In the back of his mind, Harry briefly wondered if he was going to find out what it felt like to be drawn and quartered.

"You. Fancy. _Ginny_!" Ron roared. "You -" He stopped abruptly and stared down at Harry, who was visibly trembling in the face of this tower of Weasley righteousness, steeling himself for whatever punishment Ron might deal out.

Ron held out a hand, thankfully wand-free, and swung it down toward Harry's body. Harry just lay there, blinking, as the hand stopped in front of his face. It was spread out, not fisted, and hovered there. 

"C'mon Harry, sit up. It took you long enough anyway. Hermione's been on for _ages_ about you and Ginny. Rather thick of you, that she noticed before you did. I didn't believe her. Guess this means I owe her a Galleon after all." He looked down at Harry. "Well? Aren't you going to get up?"

Harry reached out for his hand and pulled himself up, still in shock. He shook his head a few times, desperately trying to clear his brain. He couldn't think, couldn't even react. He just sat there dumbly, staring at Ron as though he had suddenly grown eyestalks or declared his affection for Ferret Boy. It felt as though his head were filled with thick custard.

"You're not going to kill me?" he asked Ron. "No debilitating curses or anything?"

Ron laughed. "Not right now, at any rate. Thought maybe I should let you get comfortable before I come after you. More effective that way."

"Oh, God!" Harry covered his face with his hands as the tension rushed away. Ron started laughing again, not the hooting grunts of earlier, but a low chuckle this time.

"Look, it's hardly worth it to punish you right now. You're doing a much better job of it than I could! But where the hell did that come from?"

"I don't know! I just wanted to say something to get Colin to shut up and keep you from hexing him at the same time. I didn't know I was going to say _that_!"

"Well," Ron said, "I'm pretty sure you shut him up. Poor kid won't even be able to speak around you for a few weeks, I'd bet. Although, I should probably say something to him. It is my sister, after all. Can't let anybody walk around talking about her like that."

Harry groaned. "No, Ron, leave him. He's probably just got carried away. You know how it gets, nothing to do in winter but lie to impress your mates. No doubt Colin's sorry enough that we overheard him. He's not a bad sort, just ... I don't know, a bit desperate."

Shaking his head, Ron sighed heavily. "Yeah, I know. Poor guy. He never has quite lived down his first year, when he followed you around all the time. But if I _ever_ hear him talk about Ginny that way again, I'll murder him. Or, I'll set the twins on him! That'll fix him.

"Did I tell you they've developed another new product? It's called Tweedle Tarts. They tested it on Percy when he brought Penelope over for dinner a few weeks back. Threw a right fit, he did. Said they made him look like a fool in front of his girl. Not like it's the first time." Ron's face split in a wide smile as he sat back down on his unmade bed.

"Or the last." Harry grinned back at Ron. "So, what do these Tweedle Tarts do? Give you ears like a house elf? Rear end like a Skrewt? Make you sing nothing but show tunes for hours on end?"

"Even better! They turn you into -" here Ron started to wheeze again "- a character from _Alice__ in Wonderland._ Percy turned into the Walrus! Even after Mum made 'em give up the antidote, ol' Perce still had tusks for a week!"

Harry too collapsed in laughter on his bed. The image of Percy showing up at the Ministry of Magic for work with tusks hanging down to his chest was too much. The two friends laughed helplessly for long minutes, one occasionally calming down only to be set off again by the other. 

When his giggles finally subsided, Harry lay exhausted across his bed. His mind was still whirling, trying to make sense out of the last hour or so. It was difficult to believe that he was still breathing, let alone sharing a laugh with Ron. No matter, he was determined to steer the conversation away from such dangerous topics as Ginny and fancying.

"So, does it turn everyone into the Walrus? And how do they know Lewis Carroll anyway? Wasn't he a Muggle?" Even after his years at Hogwarts, Harry was still amazed by how many "Muggle" things were really Wizarding in origin. It seemed some Witches and Wizards were as fascinated by the outside world as Arthur Weasley and several could, and did, thrive in the Muggle world. Hermione was forever unearthing the Wizarding basis for things they remembered from childhood.

Ron wiped the moisture from his eyes before replying. "Fred came up with some sort of spell that determines which character the victim is most like. I have no idea how it works, maybe it's like the Sorting Hat or something." He looked thoughtful for a moment then continued, "I think Lewis Carroll _was_ a Muggle. Dad used to read his books to us when we were little. I don't remember the pictures ever moving so I just assumed he was. Who knows? Maybe he met somebody like Hagrid who told him all about some magical creatures over a pint. We should ask Hermione, she'd know for sure."

Harry groaned and dropped his head backwards onto his pillow. "No way! I learned my lesson after we heard that Beatles song on the Wizarding Wireless last term." 

Ron snickered. "Harry! I can't believe you didn't know that!" He had pitched his voice an octave higher and continued in a mocking tone. "George Harrison is one of the greatest magi-musicians of the twentieth century! In 1966, he helped to rescue an Occamy colony in Jaipur, India, and began work on a new form of musical protection spells...."

"Incorporating the wisdom of Indian mystics and Wizards. And his _Emodulari_ _Munitus_ was the basis for much of the theoretical work of Varlerta, who was instrumental in the defeat of the American Dark Wizard, Alexander Groban." A new voice, in the same pitch but lacking the mocking tone, finished Ron's commentary. 

Both boys jumped to their feet at the voice ringing forth from the doorway. Harry's mouth dropped open, once again making him appear to be doing his best flobberworm impression. For his part, Ron suddenly resembled a very ripe tomato. He, too, opened his mouth but his vocal cords did not appear to be paralysed. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for his brain.

"Oh, shit."

~

One last A/N: George Harrison, may he rest in peace, was not a Wizard as far as I know. :) But in my opinion, anyone who could make a guitar sing that way must have had a little magic in his blood. 

Please, please, PLEASE review! This is my very first story, so don't be shy: I can take it!


	2. Of Spats and Prats

**Disclaimer:** They're not mine; they're Ms. Rowling's. They just jumped into my head one day and started thrashing around. I had to let them out somehow! I can't lay claim to the idea either. I have no clue where it came from or where it's heading. I just hope it doesn't leave anytime soon.

Any similarity between this and other fics is entirely coincidental. If you see something you recognize, please let me know. I don't want to step on anyone's toes!

Thanks to my beta, She Who Must Not Be Named, and my Brit-picker, Laucia. Any mistakes here are my fault entirely!

======

"Oh shit," Ron repeated.

Hermione Granger stood in the door of the dormitory. Her school robes seemed to snap around her legs as she glared at the two boys standing next to their beds. With the torches flickering behind her and highlighting the cloud of hair around her head and the expression on her face, she was terrifying. Harry looked at her wand hand nervously, certain she would hex them at any moment.

"Ronald Weasley, _what_ do you think you're doing?" snapped Hermione. "You were supposed to meet me in the Library twenty minutes ago. Honestly! As if I have nothing better to do than wait for you all evening!"

Ron cringed, the colour slowly draining from his face. "Hermione! I was -- we were on our way up here so I could get my books and -- Harry, er, that is, Colin was in the corridor...."

Hermione didn't let him finish. She stalked into the room, shoving a finger in Ron's face. "I don't want to hear it! You -" she thumped her finger against his chest "- are never going to get a N.E.W.T. in Transfiguration if you don't study your theory. We don't have time for you to be running around mocking me!"

She whirled away, robes swirling around her as she began gathering Ron's books and shoving them into her bag. As she moved, she continued to harangue Ron, who was darting around her trying to grab his books out of her hands and stumbling over an apology.

Taking advantage of her preoccupation, Harry sidled to the door. _Please please please, let me out before she turns on me too, _he begged silently_. _Only feet away from the corridor and the sanctuary it offered, he stumbled over Trevor, who had apparently escaped from Neville. Again. He wobbled as he tried to avoid crushing the large toad and threw out his hands to catch himself. Unfortunately, his hands tangled in the velvet hangings on Dean's bed. He fell onto the floor face first, tangled in the fabric. His glasses were crooked and all he could see was a blurry brown blob. Just beyond that he could make out two dark blobs stomping menacingly towards him.

_Too late_.

Harry closed his eyes and clenched his stomach, waiting for Hermione to start in on him as well. Instead, he felt the curtains slowly lift away from him. Looking up, he found Ron leaning over him, a flush just beginning to rise in his cheeks. Harry straightened his glasses as he stood, glancing nervously at Hermione. She was thumping her rucksack against her leg, still staring furiously at Ron's back. 

"Thanks, Ron," he muttered. Reaching for his wand, he moved past them to the centre of the room, intent on restoring the bed to its previous condition. "_Cubile reparo_." The velvet swished out of Ron's hands and re-hung itself neatly around the bed. Fiddling with the drape of the fabric, Harry ran through several possible scenarios and discarded each of them just as quickly. There was nothing for it; he'd just have to face her. She was standing between him and the window anyway, so he couldn't even summon his broom and escape that way.

Taking a deep breath, Harry turned around and braced himself. "Hermione. It's my fault Ron's late. We were coming up to get our books and we were ... distracted in the hallway. Colin was talking to some of his friends and he was saying some pretty nasty stuff. About Ginny."

"I thought as much," Hermione swung her gaze to Harry as she interrupted him. "I found Colin in the Common Room. He's completely frantic; he kept muttering _'_I'm dead' over and over. He wouldn't listen to me at all and when Ginny came in, he jumped up and ran out through the portrait hole. He yelled something about not meaning it as he wasn't ready to die. His roommate Kieran said they'd run into you lot up here.

"What did you say to him, Ron? He's absolutely terrified. I wouldn't be surprised if he went to Professor McGonagall over this!" Hermione turned her glare on Ron again, waiting for him to answer. "Well? Have you nothing to say for yourself?"

Ron threw his hands in the air, sputtering. "It wasn't me! I didn't say two words to the prat. Talk to the Golden Boy over there, he's the one who threatened him!"

Hermione's mouth dropped open as she turned to Harry. "YOU?"

Harry exploded. "Yes, me! You should have heard what he was saying! I was just trying to get him to shut up so Ron wouldn't do something stupid." Harry's eyes hardened as he looked at her. "And to teach him a lesson about insulting girls, especially Ginny. She deserves better than to be gossiped about."

He stared hard at Hermione as though _she_ had dared to insult Ginny. Behind her, Ron started coughing into a fist, which barely covered the grin on his face. Hermione's angry expression melted away, leaving a small smile on her lips and a twinkle in her eye. She had stopped swinging the rucksack and started to walk towards Harry.

"Oh, so you were ... defending her honour? That's very sweet of you," she said as she patted him on the arm. "I'm sure Ginny will appreciate that." She grinned up at him wickedly.

"NO!" Harry shouted. He grimaced slightly and tried to keep his voice steady as he continued. "I mean, you can't tell her what happened. She'll be devastated that Colin was talking about her like that." He was looking down into Hermione's face intently, annoyed by the twinkle in her eyes that only seemed to grow as he spoke. 

Silently, Harry groaned. He should have known better than to tell her the truth. Knowing her propensity for involving herself in what she called "righteous causes", he'd be lucky if Ginny didn't know by breakfast. He backed away from her and stopped when he backed into the grate in the centre of the room. Thankfully, none of the house-elves had lit a fire that day. Hermione kept advancing.

"Oh, I don't know about that, Harry. I think the positives of the situation far outweigh the devastation she might feel," Hermione teased him as her eyes twinkled merrily. She patted his arm soothingly. 

Harry started to panic. Hermione with a twinkle was somehow worse than a spitting, raging Snape: with Snape, you always knew exactly what you were in for (detention, points reduction, empty expulsion threats). With Hermione, you didn't know what was happening until it was all over and she was explaining it to you. In excruciating detail. With visual aids. And, of course, the occasional smack to the shoulder.

Seeing Harry's increasingly panicky facial contortions, Hermione laughed brightly and patted his arm one final time. "Don't worry, Sir Lancelot! She won't hear anything from me." 

Leaving Harry sagging with relief against the grate in the middle of the dormitory, Hermione turned to Ron and barked, "Get a move on, Ron! I haven't got all night and neither do you. To the Library!" 

Not waiting for a response, she hitched the rucksack onto her shoulders and marched to the door. She nearly knocked Neville over when he came scurrying in, calling Trevor's name. With a hasty "Sorry, Neville!" flung over her shoulder, Hermione disappeared into the corridor, her footsteps clattering along the flagstones towards the stairwell.

Ron clapped a hand to Harry's back, nearly knocking him to the floor, before quickly striding to the exit. Harry covered his face with his hands and groaned aloud. Ron's voice floated back into the room as he too disappeared into the corridor.

"Don't worry, Harry, we'll talk when I get back!"

Neville stared at Harry, his eyes wide in his round face. He clasped Trevor tightly to his chest. 

"What did you do?"

"Don't even ask, Neville," Harry bit out as he stumbled to his bed. "Don't even ask." 

~

Ron caught up to Hermione as she was crossing the Common Room. She gave him an annoyed look as he tried to remove the rucksack from her shoulders. They argued back and forth halfway to the Library over who should carry the books. Hermione finally relented after Ron admitted it was his fault the bag was so heavy. After all, if she hadn't had to fetch him from Gryffindor Tower, she would only have been carrying half the load.

After settling the argument, they walked the rest of the way in silence, each of them caught up in their own mental meanderings. Shortly before they reached the Library entrance, Hermione suddenly paused and turned to speak.

Ron beat her to it. "I'm sorry for what I was saying up there, Hermione."

She blinked. "How did you know I was going to talk about that?" she asked, bewildered.

"You always get a little wrinkle between your eyes when I hurt your feelings." Ron smiled sheepishly as she gaped. He continued, "You know, I actually like it when you start your 'Little Known Facts' lectures. I remember what you tell us better than what we hear in lecture."

Hermione smiled up at him, pleased by the compliment. "I wondered how you remembered the name of the city. That was more than three months ago!"

Ron leaned in close to her face before replying. "I remember everything you say, Hermione."

"Shameless flirt!" Hermione gasped as she smacked him on the shoulder. "Now let's get in there and study this Transfiguration theory. You shall not fail on my watch!"

Bowing low, Ron swept his arm towards the doors. "After you, milady."

They walked into the Library side by side, their earlier argument forgotten. 

~

A/N: Wow, that was short. This was originally part of a longer chapter, but I had to cut it somewhere. This seemed as good a place as any. 

Latin in this chapter: _Cubile _(bed) _reparo _(to fix)_. _With these three, I think _reparo_ might end up being the most useful spell of all!

Thank you so much to my reviewers, both at FF.net and in email. It's very gratifying to read such nice things, especially when they come from writers whose work I admire so much.

Now, you know you want to review, even if it's to flame me for unleashing such mindless fluff. (Believe me, I know!) You see, I just invested in a new dragonhide vest. Have to test it somehow, right? So just click that little button. Yes, that blue one on the left. Thanks!


	3. Extreme Measures

**Disclaimer:** They're not mine; they're Ms. Rowling's. They just jumped into my head one day and started thrashing around. I had to let them out somehow! I can't lay claim to the idea either. I have no clue where it came from or where it's heading. I just hope it doesn't leave anytime soon.

Any similarity between this and other fics is entirely coincidental. If you see something you recognize, please let me know. I don't want to step on anyone's toes!

Thanks to my beta, She Who Must Not Be Named, who has to deal with my irrational fear of the semi-colon. Have fun with the kiddies!

======

Just after moonrise, the Gryffindor Common Room was a cosy haven of quiet. A fire crackled in the large hearth near the entrance, casting flickering light over the abandoned chairs. The tables under the high casement windows were littered with discarded parchments and wrappers from Honeydukes's. A solitary quill danced in a draught sweeping down from the dormitory stairs. It fluttered and twirled across the floor, lightly brushing across the heavy carpet as though wielded by an uncommonly graceful house elf. 

After sailing past a plush armchair, the quill hovered for a moment, trembling. Quickly, it changed direction as it caught another eddy, this time from one of the windows. Rather more frantically, it danced to an alcove tucked into one of the room's many corners. It finally rested against a leg sprawled across the floor. The leg's owner lay still as the quill nuzzled against the black fabric of a school robe.

Harry was curled on top of his Charms text, a messy parchment under one hand. He had moved down to the Common Room shortly after Ron and Hermione had made their dramatic exit from the dormitory. At first, he had lain face down on his bed, listening to Neville bustle about the room and chatter to Trevor. He had been in no mood to chat despite Neville's continued attempts to draw him out. 

~

After the eighth time Neville clucked at him ("Surely it can't be that bad, whatever you did! You haven't got a single boil!"), Harry rolled off his bed and began gathering his parchments and inks. Muttering an excuse to Neville, he fled for the relative safety of the Common Room. It was an unspoken rule in Gryffindor Tower that, during the week, socialising was restricted to the dormitories after the evening meal. The Common Room, thanks to the efforts of Hermione and a third-year named Constance, was considered an unofficial study room and was only slightly less restricted than the Library. A blistering row between Hermione and an unrepentant George Weasley shortly before the O.W.L.s had demonstrated the need for bowing to Hermione's wishes regarding quiet study time. (George still tried to shield himself behind his nearest sibling whenever Hermione visited the Burrow, lest she decide to restore his antennae.)

Halfway down the stairs, Harry hesitated. He desperately needed to work on his essay for Charms. Forty-five inches on the historical restrictions of Glamours in Europe was a daunting task; research had never been his strong suit. However, by leaving the sanctuary of the sixth year's dormitory, Harry was courting the monumental risk of seeing the two people he'd really rather not. Hermione had said that Colin had fled before she stormed their room, but Ginny was in the Tower. It was highly unlikely she had not yet heard the story. And Colin would have to return at some point, unless he decided to take his chances against the nightly patrols in the castle.

"Ah, bugger it," Harry grumbled before continuing down the stairs. There was really no question. If he went back to his room, Neville would hound him about the scene he had witnessed. Or bore him silly with anecdotes from his Herbology studies. Plus, Ron had threatened a Conversation when he returned from the Library. Harry would much rather that it take place away from the prying eyes and ears of his roommates. Preferably within crawling, hopping or limping distance of the Infirmary, but he'd settle for the relative privacy of a tapestry covered nook in the Tower.

On entering the Common Room, Harry realised that all eyes were on him. Apparently, Kieran had been relating the confrontation to the Gryffindors sprawled around the room. He felt the blood rush to his face and stalked towards the portrait hole, pointedly ignoring the curious looks and whispered conversations. The room seemed to have been magically expanded, leaving him a clear path through the normally cluttered room. At the same time, it felt as though everyone was crowded around him, pressing in on him from all sides. The weight of their questioning stares prickled against his skin as he passed.

_I will not make eye contact. I will not make eye contact_....

With relief, Harry spotted an empty alcove half-hidden by a section of tapestry. It was halfway along the wall between the stairs and the entrance, a little space fashioned by a random corner of the room. He was in luck, for a change. 

This particular corner was truly random. It appeared and disappeared according to an unknown schedule. In fact, it was one of several such corners in the Tower, none of which should exist owing to the fact that the actual structure of the Gryffindor wing was round. The alcove for which Harry was aiming had been discovered by Seamus sometime during their first month at Hogwarts. He had accidentally left his Potions homework in it one night, only to find that it had disappeared the next morning. That time, it had been gone for well over a fortnight.

After what seemed an eternity, Harry reached the alcove. Ignoring the sudden explosion of whispering in the room beyond, he transfigured a few of his extra quills into cushions and sprawled on the floor. He opened his Charms text, nibbled on a quill momentarily and began scribbling furiously on his parchment. 

Eventually the room emptied as students drifted up to their dormitories for the night. Some two hours after Harry had hidden himself away, he was the only person still working. Harry looked up as the last of his fellow Gryffindors made his way out of the room.

"Night, Harry. Don't stay up too late! You'll need your beauty sleep for tomorrow." Seamus stood on the bottom step, grinning like a madman and waggling his eyebrows suggestively. He ducked as Harry growled and sent a crumpled piece of parchment careening toward his head. Laughing, Seamus made his way upstairs, whistling as he went.

Harry briefly considered moving to one of the tables near the fire. The stone he was lying on was uncomfortable at best and his stomach had grown numb with cold. As he reached out to cover his inkpot, his eye fell on a passage in his text and he reluctantly turned back to his parchment before he lost his train of thought. 

_In France, Glamoury has long been considered one of the most attractive forms of magic_, he wrote. _While other countries were actively seeking to limit its use, the French magical government was funding several Wizards in their research of Indistinguishable Glamours. However, the French were convinced of the need to outlaw Glamoury after an aspiring Dark Wizard successfully impersonated the Muggle Cardinal Richelieu for a period of several weeks in 1637...._

Engrossed in his essay, Harry didn't notice the portrait swing open. Colin Creevey crawled in through the hole and looked anxiously around the room before entering. When he spied Harry tucked behind the tapestry, he whitened visibly and scurried to the stairs. 

Harry didn't look up from his work until the portrait snapped shut. Shrugging at seeing no one else in the room, he continued writing. Before long, his eyes drooped and his quill-hand slowed. In mid-sentence, his head dropped onto his textbook, his glasses pressed tightly against his face.

~

With a start, Harry realised two things. The first was that passed out face down on flagstones was not the best way to spend the night. His glasses pinched the bridge of his nose tightly, his stomach ached with the cold and his legs had long since lost all feeling. Bending his legs, Harry idly kicked at the wall behind him, hoping to shock his blood back into circulation.

His second realisation was that he was no longer alone in the Common Room. The hearth was still flickering gently but had died down enough that it no longer illuminated the entire room. Squinting, Harry could just make out two dark figures at a table in the corner furthest from his hiding spot. Their low murmurs just barely brushed his ears. He used his tingling feet to push off the wall behind him as he strained to make out the conversation.

"Look, this really isn't that difficult! We've been doing this since second year!"

Hermione. And judging from the exasperation in her voice, Ron was with her. Harry glanced at his watch, startled to see it was nearly midnight. He capped his inkpot and stuffed his parchment into his book. Groaning, he rose to his feet as he waved his wand at the cushions and transformed them back into quills. Gathering his things, he made his way to where his friends were still arguing.

"Hermione, I. Don't. Get. It!" Ron bit out. "I'm hopeless at these bloody theories." He slammed his book shut, making Hermione jump, and rubbed a hand over his face.

Hermione reached out a hand to wrap around his arm. Softly, she said, "Don't worry about it, Ron. You're just exhausted. We'll work on it more this weekend."

"Work on what?" Harry asked as he plopped into a chair across from his friends. 

Hermione coloured slightly and snatched her hand away from Ron. "Human Transfiguration theory. Ron's still a bit fuzzy on the details," she replied primly. 

Ron leaned his head over the back of his chair and snorted. 

Hermione glared at him. "Well, you _will_ understand it if I have anything to say about it. Honestly, it's not all that different than what we've done so far. You just have to remember that mfffggghh -"

Ron had clamped his hand over Hermione's mouth. Harry stifled a chuckle as he watched the two of them. Hermione's eyes were glinting dangerously over Ron's hand. Ron was shaking his head at her, clicking his tongue and scolding her. While he was teasing her over her remarkable McGonagall impression, Hermione narrowed her eyes. She met Harry's amused gaze and raised one eyebrow as if to say _Watch this!_

Harry almost choked when Ron suddenly recoiled from Hermione as though he had been burned. Ron's eyes widened and his ears started to glow. Hermione merely looked at him smugly before neatly arranging her books into a pile and shoving them into her bag. Ron slumped in his chair, his hand cradled against his chest as though holding something infinitely precious.

"Close your mouth, Ron. I'm off to bed," Hermione declared. "I'll see the two of you at breakfast." With a flourish worthy of a queen, she rose from her chair and quickly disappeared up the staircase.

Harry waited until she was out of sight before letting loose a bark of laughter. Ron was still slumped in his chair, staring blankly in the direction of the stairs. His jaw worked furiously and his ears flushed a darker red. Harry swallowed the rest of his laughter and sat back, waiting for his friend to compose himself. 

"I don't - She, uh.... W-wow," Ron stammered, his face slowly flushing to match his ears and hair. He shook his head quickly then turned to Harry. "What was _that_?"

"Do you need a minute?" Harry tried to keep his face as solemn as possible. It was rather difficult: he could feel his eye twitch with suppressed laughter. 

Ron growled in response then busied himself with stacking his books, refusing to meet Harry's eyes again.

Harry coughed. The look on Ron's face, confusion combined with something darker, kept him from teasing further. One thing he'd learned in the last few years was that there were times it was downright dangerous to prod Ron. This, apparently, was one of them. He stared down at his hands until Ron cleared his throat.

"Harry, you know you're my best friend," Ron began. "But if you say one word, I'll hex you into next week!"

Harry threw his arms up in surrender and nodded agreement. He vaguely hoped that Hermione's somewhat scandalous behaviour would throw Ron off enough that he'd forget about the Conversation he had threatened. 

Ron cleared his throat a few more times, absently fiddling with a quill on the table. Finally, he looked at Harry again. His eyes narrowed slightly.

_Apparently not_, Harry groaned silently.__

"So, what exactly are your intentions toward my baby sister?"

=====

A/N: Ah, the old palm-lick trick. Works like a charm! I have a feeling Ron won't try to shut her up again any time soon. Well, not until his ears fade anyway.

Dear Reader, you know how it is: writers live on a steady diet of praise and condemnation. Without it, they are often reduced to whimpering wrecks, incapable of anything but checking their in-box. With just a simple click, you can help prevent this horrible fate. Do your part to save a writer! Click the button!


	4. The Plot Thickens

**Disclaimer:** They're not mine; they're Ms. Rowling's. They just jumped into my head one day and started thrashing around. I had to let them out somehow! I can't lay claim to the idea either. I have no clue where it came from or where it's heading. I just hope it doesn't leave anytime soon.

Any similarity between this and other fics is entirely coincidental. If you see something you recognize, please let me know. I don't want to step on anyone's toes!

Thanks to my beta, She Who Must Not Be Named, and my Brit-picker, Laucia. Any mistakes in here are entirely my fault. They tried to talk me out of them, but would I listen?? 

**Warning**: If you haven't read OotP yet, please, go find another fic. I'd love for you to keep reading mine, but I don't want to spoil anything for you. Don't worry, I'll be waiting right here when you finish!

======

"So, what exactly are your intentions toward my baby sister?"

Harry looked down at the table. He could feel Ron's gaze boring into the top of his head as though trying to read his mind. Ron wasn't likely to wait around until Harry felt more comfortable. Unfortunately, he couldn't think of a single thing to say. He had buried himself in his Charms essay so that he wouldn't have time to think. 

"I don't know what to say, Ron. I honestly don't know where that came from. I've never really thought about Ginny like that before."

"I should hope not!" Ron grumbled. "And even if you did, I certainly don't want to know about it."

Harry slumped back in his chair and pushed a hand through his hair. "Look, I don't know what to tell you. I don't even know what to tell myself! Up until a few hours ago, I would've said that I thought of Ginny as _my little sister. This, well, this pretty much changes everything." He sighed.   
"Would you mind if we talk about this later? I need to think about this."_

Ron nodded. "Take your time, Harry. Just don't do anything stupid. I do know where you sleep."

"Yeah, I know. And you'll hex me into next week if I blah blah blah. I heard the speech you gave to Dean. You need some new material." Harry looked over at Ron in time to see him flash a smirk.

"That was nothing. I wish I could've seen the letter the twins wrote to him. I heard he didn't eat or drink anything for a whole day after that." Ron pushed his chair back from the table and stood. "Speaking of food, want to sneak down to the kitchens for a snack? We still have a few minutes until McGonagall's bed check."

"You're on. I didn't eat much at dinner." Harry stacked his books and parchments on the table then rose to follow Ron, who was already halfway to the portrait. 

Ron stepped out into the corridor first and peered both ways before giving Harry the all-clear. The Fat Lady sighed loudly as she swung closed behind them.

"Now, you boys mind yourselves. Don't go looking for trouble!" she called after them. Harry heard her grumbling to herself as they went down the stairs.

In the kitchens, the boys were greeted by a virtual army of house-elves and were quickly seated at a small table piled high with pastries. After stuffing themselves and thanking the elves -- Hermione had trained them well in the wake of the Kreacher disaster -- they started back to their dormitory. 

Ron was gesturing wildly as he recounted the Chudley Cannons's latest match. Harry, his stomach full, nodded in all the right places. Normally, he would have had no problem rehashing the whole game and arguing over which strategies had caused defeat. He was just as mad about Quidditch as Ron was. But he was having trouble focussing on the conversation as his mind kept returning to the earlier confrontation with Colin.

It was beyond bizarre that Colin, of all people, had been so crude. He was normally quiet and reserved, hiding behind his camera and watching rather than participating. Harry could count on one hand the number of times he had seen Colin without his camera. He had even brought it to their Dumbledore's Army training sessions! 

What was even stranger was that he had been talking about Ginny. Everyone in Gryffindor knew better than to tangle with the youngest Weasley; growing up with six older brothers had sharpened her reflexes to the point that she, like Ron, often reacted to perceived threats before she had time to consider her actions. More than that, until he and Ron had walked up behind Colin in the corridor, Harry had thought that the two fifth-years were good friends. He had often seen them revising together in the Library and they usually sat together at meals.

Harry continued to turn the night's events over in his mind as Ron launched into a spirited recreation of Chudley's very badly executed, last-minute sacrifice play, the one that had virtually assured that the Harpies would win the match.

As they waited for one of the staircases to reattach, Ron suddenly stopped talking with his hands in midair. He cocked his head to one side. "Did you hear that, Harry?"

Harry listened briefly but all he could hear were the snores drifting out of various paintings and the grinding noise of the staircases. "Hear what?"

Ron didn't answer for a minute. He went down a flight of stairs and paused outside a door. He waved Harry down to him, and then pressed his ear against the door. "It's coming from in there," he whispered. "Sounds like a row."

As Harry joined him on the landing, he could just make out muffled voices. He pressed his ear against the door as well.

"I won't do it! You- you don't scare me!" a thin voice stammered.

"I don't? Perhaps you are more foolish than I thought. You will do this or everything you hold dear might suddenly _slip away. Do we understand each other?" a second voice hissed in response._

Harry jumped back as he heard a muffled thud and a cry that was quickly cut off. He looked at Ron, who was pulling his wand out of his robes. Quickly realizing his intent, Harry drew his own wand.

Ron met Harry's eyes and mouthed, "_We go on three_." 

Harry nodded once and tensed, ready to move when Ron uttered the unlocking charm.

"Alohomora!"

The door swung inward and both boys quickly stepped into the room. It was empty. There were a few tatty chairs piled near the entrance. In the pool of light spilling through the doorway, Harry could see a thick carpet of dust on the floor. He squinted into the gloom but could only see the outline of some grimy windows on the far wall. 

Ron lit his wand and stepped a few feet further into the room. "Looks like the elves haven't been in here lately." He kicked one of the chairs and coughed as a large cloud of dust rose around him. 

"Where did they go?" Harry asked. "Is there another door back there?"

Ron shrugged and started to walk across the room. After only a few steps, he stopped and pushed back his sleeve. He swore softly.

"What? What is it?" Harry moved toward him only to pull up short as Ron turned and started walking back.

"The alarm just went off!" Ron exclaimed. "McGonagall will be at the Tower in just a few minutes! _Hurry!_" He broke into a jog as he neared the door.

Harry followed him into the corridor, taking only a quick glance around the room before closing the door. By the time he started up the stairs, Ron was already one flight higher. Promising himself he would return in the morning for a more thorough inspection, Harry ran.

Professor McGonagall was standing next to the Fat Lady when Harry huffed his way up the last staircase. He tried to gasp out an explanation but stopped when she raised an eyebrow. After glancing at the timepiece she had pinned to her robes, she waved him into the Common Room with a warning. Harry stumbled through the hole and sank to his knees as the portrait snapped shut behind him. He bent his head, gasping for breath and trying to calm his racing heartbeat. He could hear Ron rasping nearby and McGonagall's cane tapping down the corridor.

"That … was a little … too close," Harry managed finally. 

Ron chuckled weakly. "Shouldn't have eaten so many éclairs."

After a few minutes, Harry felt recovered enough to stand. He walked to the table in the far corner and gathered his books then followed Ron up to their dormitory. They talked quietly about the conversation they had overheard and made plans to examine the room after breakfast. 

When they entered their own room, Harry dropped his books on the floor and collapsed on his bed. He couldn't even summon the energy to change into his pyjamas. Ron was already snoring.

_What a day_, Harry thought. _I feel like I could sleep for a week. _He rolled onto his back and stared up at the canopy, waiting for the exhaustion to pull him under.

~

Harry closed his eyes briefly as he shovelled porridge into his mouth. Despite his mad dash back to Gryffindor, he hadn't slept well. He had fallen asleep almost immediately but woke up nearly every hour for the rest of the night. In addition, he was still feeling the effects of several hours on the Common Room floor. His lower back gave a twinge whenever he bent over too far, the muscles in his neck still felt sore and his legs ached. He set his fork down on his plate and let the noise of the Great Hall flow over him.

Somewhere to his left, he could hear Dean and Seamus arguing about a project for their Magical Creatures class. Apparently, Seamus was trying to locate an Augurey, an Irish Phoenix. Dean was loudly protesting that the creature was too difficult to capture and keep in captivity. Apparently, Dean preferred working on a more common, and more easily controlled, animal. Seamus scoffed at the suggestion, saying that Hagrid would give them higher marks if they worked with something slightly dangerous. Harry silently agreed and even Dean could not argue.

A loud clatter immediately to Harry's right heralded the arrival of Neville at the table. Harry opened his eyes to see the contents of a full goblet of water rushing towards his lap. He fished out his wand and evaporated the liquid just before it cascaded over the edge of the table.

"Sorry, Harry!" Neville exclaimed breathlessly. "Didn't watch what I was doing!"

"That's all right, Neville." Harry was well used to Neville's clumsiness, although it had lessened considerably after the fight in the Department of Mysteries the previous year. To no one's surprise, Neville had gained quite a bit of confidence in himself when it was all over. He was still awkward and bumbling at times, usually when he was in a hurry.

As Neville settled himself onto the bench with slightly more caution, Harry helped himself to another serving of eggs.

"So, what are you doing up this early?" Neville asked as he poured a fresh goblet of pumpkin juice.

Harry shrugged. "I couldn't sleep. Figured I might as well come down. Ron and I are supposed to check on something. But if he doesn't get up soon, I might go to the Library for a bit to work on my Charms essay before Potions."

Neville nodded and attempted to butter his toast. "That essay is nasty. I'm doing Memory Charms. I didn't know there were so many!"

"Find any good ones? " Harry caught the dish of butter as it shot off the table towards him.

"Yeah! There's this one that some German wizard has been working on. I don't really understand how it works, but he says that it might be useful for interrogations...."

Harry listened with half an ear to the rest of Neville's explanation as movement at the foot of the table caught his eye. He looked to the entrance doors and froze. 

Ginny had just walked in to breakfast.

======

A/N: Why is it that every chapter seems to end with a cliff-hanger of some sort? Am I just evil? And what's this: do my eyes deceive me? Is that a plot I see brewing? Yes, indeed it is. And you thought this was just fluff! Hah! 

Well, lots of things have changed in this post-OotP world, but luckily, nothing in the new book directly impacts my intended storyline. I'm going to have to go back and tweak a few things in the first chapters, but yay!  Also, if you've already read OotP (and if you haven't, why are you here?!? Go! Read the canon first!), take a moment with me to say goodbye. It may not have been my favourite character, but I mourn all the same. What a time (and a way) to go…. 

Let me know what you think so far. Just click that little button. You might even get a gushing letter of thanks and praise out of it!


	5. Like the Corners of my Mind

**Disclaimer:** They're not mine; they're Ms. Rowling's. They just jumped into my head one day and started thrashing around. I had to let them out somehow! I can't lay claim to the idea either. I have no clue where it came from or where it's heading. I just hope it doesn't leave anytime soon.

Any similarity between this and other fics is entirely coincidental. If you see something you recognize, please let me know. I don't want to step on anyone's toes!

**Warning**: If you haven't read OotP yet, please, go find another fic. I'd love for you to keep reading mine, but I don't want to spoil anything for you. Don't worry, I'll be waiting right here when you finish!

**Preliminary A/N**: I will be correcting a few minor things in the first few chapters. It's nothing major, mostly just stuff to keep this story in line with the events of OotP. You don't have to go back and check it; it really has no bearing on the plot (such as it is). Also, I'm trying to keep this story "in character" as much as possible, but don't expect much of Angry!Harry. I really, really suck at the angst. 

======

Harry turned from the doors to face Neville again. "I forgot my watch! Do you know what time it is?" he exclaimed.

Neville jumped slightly then glanced up at the head table. "Professor Snape just poured his coffee, so we must have nearly an hour until Potions."

"You know Snape's morning routine?" Harry goggled at Neville, who shrugged and turned back to his breakfast.

"I like to see what mood he's in before we go down to the dungeons," said Neville.

Harry shook his head, "You're a strange one, Neville. He's in the same mood every day: hateful."

"No, he's not!" Neville protested. "Sometimes, when I haven't blown anything up recently, he's quite civil. The worst days are the ones when he doesn't speak to any of the other teachers at table. If he does talk to one of them, I know he's having a good day." He chewed his toast for a moment, looking thoughtful, and then continued, "Really, he's been almost decent, since last year."

Harry blinked at Neville but didn't reply. He certainly hadn't noticed any major changes in Snape's behaviour for the better. If anything, Snape seemed grouchier and more caustic than ever. He rarely spoke to Harry in class and during the Occlumency sessions – which they had continued only at Dumbledore's insistence – he merely growled instructions and criticisms and even those only when absolutely necessary. The few times they had seen each other outside Snape's rooms, the Potions Master had completely ignored Harry's presence. In fact, aside from the eye contact needed for the lessons, Harry couldn't remember the last time he had seen Snape even look at him.

Glancing up at the head table, Harry saw Snape lean close to McGonagall, an enquiring look on his face. As Harry watched, McGonagall reached out and laid her hand on Snape's arm. She was leaning towards him and speaking rapidly. Snape looked down at the hand resting on his sleeve, his lank hair falling in his face and obscuring it from view. He seemed to be shaking his head, if the movement of his hair were any indication. McGonagall paused and looked around the hall. When she saw Harry, her face tightened briefly then smoothed out as she quirked a brow at him.

Not understanding the message in her face, Harry dropped his gaze. He didn't want to think about Snape. He had nursed a healthy anger towards him all summer and had nearly succeeded in pushing the memory of Snape as a student to the back of his mind. Since his return to Hogwarts, and being forced to train with him at least once a week, the memory had surfaced again and again.

Unbidden, the image of Snape as a pale, skinny outcast crept into his mind at all hours of the day and night. It interrupted his classes and took over his dreams. _Walking along the edge of the lake, his attention focussed on a sheet of paper…. Dangling in mid-air with his robes hanging over his head, revealing his knobbly knees…. Cruel laughter echoing across the lawn as James and Sirius played to the crowd…._

Abruptly, Harry stood and ruthlessly forced the memory back into the depths of his mind. He picked up his stack of books from the bench and told Neville he was headed for the library. Even if Ron arrived in the next minute or two, they wouldn't have time to properly investigate. Breakfast was only one of several important meals of the day for Ron; he never rushed through, preferring to savour every last morsel.

Harry fought back a rush of annoyance that Ron was still abed. He knew that Ron's schedule was much tighter than his own. Between Quidditch practice, prefect duties and extra revision time with Hermione in addition to their classes, many were the nights that Ron came limping into the dorm long after everyone else was asleep.

Bidding farewell to Neville, Harry turned to leave. He could see Ginny leaning against the Ravenclaw table, taking something from Luna Lovegood's outstretched hand and tucking it into her pocket. He sped up, hoping to pass by unnoticed. 

Throughout the long, sleepless night, Harry had had plenty of time to think about what he had said to Colin. He had yet to come to any conclusions about his feelings for Ginny – none that he would admit to anyway – and hoped to avoid the blistering set-down he dreaded. He could only imagine the embarrassing things she could prise out of him while giving a lecture on minding one's own business.

As Harry drew abreast of Ginny, she straightened and waved him over. He reluctantly walked to her and waited for her to speak.

"Talk to you, Harry?" she asked in a pleasant voice. 

"Sorry, Gin. I need to do some work before Potions." Harry tried to keep his voice even. She didn't look angry, or even annoyed, but all the same, a Weasley's temper was a fragile and dangerous thing. Best to do all he could to avoid rousing it.

Ginny looked unsurprised at his answer. She raised a hand to smooth a long strand of coppery hair behind her ear. "All right then. You have a break after, right? Meet me in the Trophy Room?"

"Er," Harry stammered. His mind was racing to come up with a suitable excuse for crying off. _Maybe I can throw myself headfirst into Neville's cauldron._

Cuffing him lightly on the arm, Ginny scoffed. "I'm not going to hex you! I just, I need to talk to you about something."

"Oh! Right. Of course, of course." Harry took a deep breath and tried to collect his wits. "The thing is, Ron and I need to do something today. I don't know when I'll be free. Maybe tonight?"

He winced inwardly as his voice rose to an awkward squeak on the last word. What was the matter with him? This was _Ginny. There was absolutely nothing to worry about, provided one knew how to block unfriendly spells._

Ginny didn't respond right away. She was looking at Harry's face and tapping one finger against her lips. Harry had to fight the urge to rub his hand over his face to check for any lingering traces of his breakfast. He lowered his eyes, pulled his hands up into his sleeves and hooked his thumbs in the cuffs. He tried not to fidget under her gaze. Just when he was sure he couldn't take it anymore and impatiently shifted on his feet, Ginny spoke.

"Have you done something different?" she said as she waved her hands vaguely in front of her face. "You look … different somehow. I don't know what it is…."

Her voice trailed off and her hands drifted back to her sides. She shrugged and went on. "Tonight would be good, Harry. A few of us have to work on our Divination –" she pulled a face "– but I can meet you in the Common Room. Say, around 8?"

Harry nodded, fearing he would croak like Trevor if he tried to speak. Ginny smiled brightly at him and moved to join Neville for breakfast. Harry quickly made for the doors. His face felt oddly hot and tight and small beads of sweat were forming along his hairline and down his back. He mumbled a greeting to a small knot of Ravenclaws just outside the Hall and practically ran the rest of the way to the Library.

As he passed through the corridors, thoughts of Ginny and fragments of their conversation tumbled through his mind. He nearly groaned aloud as he realized how much of a prat he must have seemed.

He couldn't understand it. He had known Ginny for years, practically as long as he had known Ron. Why this sudden awkwardness around her? He couldn't even blame it on Colin. To be perfectly frank, this behaviour had begun nearly from the moment they had boarded the train at summer's end.

Harry entered the Library and found an empty table. He laid out his parchments and started rereading his Charms essay. It wasn't long before the words blurred together before his eyes and his mind drifted off.

~

He and Ginny were alone on the train, waiting for Ron and Hermione to join them. After spending several weeks together at the Burrow, Harry felt they had exhausted all possible avenues of conversation. In addition to her invaluable help with ferreting out the adult's secrets, he had heard all about her correspondence with several of her roommates, the latest gossip about the other houses and her most recent fight with her mother (over an enchanted mirror, of all things). 

In turn, Ginny was up-to-date with the happenings at Dursley Dungeon, as Ron had taken to calling it. She knew his vague plans for the future, such as they were. The two of them had even spent several evenings snickering over the downright pathetic behaviour of Ron and Hermione, who came up with increasingly bizarre methods of trying to get the other's attention, up to and including a suicidal dive into the pond (Ron) and a small fire while trying to make biscuits the Muggle way (also Ron).

For the first hour or so of their journey, Harry and Ginny hardly spoke to each other. Their compartment was practically bursting with classmates they hadn't seen all summer. The narrow corridor was packed with students shouting greetings to one another and making the rounds of all the compartments. 

Harry couldn't remember the last time he had seen so many students wandering through the train. Normally everyone waited until they had arrived at school to seek out their friends and compare their holiday adventures. This time, though, it appeared that the news of Voldemort's return had had an effect. Everyone seemed eager to reconnect with friends and make sure nothing had happened to them over the break. 

Also, it seemed that word of the confrontation at the Ministry had made the rounds as well. On his way back from the toilets, Harry overheard several whispered conversations that abruptly stopped as he neared and had been on the receiving end of countless assessing, frightened or contemptuous looks. Students he didn't even know gave him hearty slaps on the back or falsely cheerful greetings then resumed whispering as he moved away. 

The Creeveys cornered him when he returned to his compartment. Dennis chattered on about their mum and dad's reaction to the news of Voldemort's return. Colin stared at the other side of the small compartment and interrupted his brother with the occasional word. 

"Being Muggles, they were worried about everything, of course. But we convinced them that Hogwarts was the safest place for us to be." Dennis said. "After they got the letter –"

"From Dumbledore," Colin interjected.

"Right, from Dumbledore," Dennis continued with barely a pause. "When they read that, Mum started crying – she's very emotional – and Dad said that the best course of action would be to prepare ourselves for whatever's in store. We told them all about those defence lessons you gave us. Dad was really impressed. Say, are you going to do that again this year?"

"I don't know," Harry said. "Let's wait to see who we have for Defence Against the Dark Arts. We may not need the extra lessons if it's somebody good." Harry half-hoped the new professor would be true to form: incompetent and/or evil (Lupin being the only exception, of course). Harry had enjoyed sharing his knowledge, especially when someone mastered a previously unknown spell or charm. Sometimes he thought that their clandestine meetings had been the only good times out of the whole year.

Dennis and Colin both nodded at him. After several more minutes of chatter, the two brothers drifted away to join the crowd in the corridor. Harry greeted a few people who stopped in to say hello and tried to catch Ginny's attention when a first-year started gabbling at him, but she was engrossed in a giggly conversation with her roommates.

The witch who ran the sandwich trolley eventually tired of fighting her way through the crowd and ordered all non-prefects to their seats. The girls surrounding Ginny squealed one final time and exited in a flurry of laughter and hair-flicking. Harry caught several of them eyeing him as they left and busied himself with arranging Hedwig's cage just so. Ginny collapsed onto her seat and threw her head back, chattering as she filled Harry in on the latest news.

He merely grunted in reply, lost in thought about the coming year. He saw Ginny roll her eyes at him and then bury herself in a book she had borrowed from Hermione. Glad she wouldn't require him to talk, Harry contented himself with watching the countryside fly by. After some time, he found his attention wandering from the blurry hills to his travelling companion. 

She was curled up on the opposite bench, completely absorbed by the book. Occasionally, she reached out and flipped through the pages, muttering to herself. Harry grinned as he watched her. She looked like Hermione often did while reading. Unlike Hermione though, Ginny's bright hair was smoothly pulled back from her face in some sort of intricate knot, not floating around her head and getting in her eyes. Ginny scanned rapidly over the pages, lingering here and there as something caught her attention. 

As Harry watched, her eyebrows lifted and she started muttering under her breath again. She flipped rapidly to the end of the book and trailed a finger through the index. Finding what she was searching for, she smiled triumphantly and slammed the book shut. Instead of speaking to him, however, Ginny then turned her gaze to the far wall. She stared into space for awhile, apparently contemplating whatever it was she had just read.

Her empty gaze made him uncomfortable. It had been years since Harry had found her lying on the cold floor under the influence of Tom Riddle, but he visited the memory often in his dreams. With a shudder, he remembered her blank face and cold hands as Riddle taunted him. He tried to lose himself in the passing landscape but found himself sneaking looks at her again and again. 

She looked much the same as she always had. Her hair was longer and her face a little rounder, but she was still undeniably the girl who followed him around during her first year. Taking advantage of her preoccupation, Harry studied her face. Two eyes, a nose, a mouth, and various other facial bits, all perfectly normal and in the right places. A dusting of freckles covered the bridge of her nose and her skin, while not exactly tanned, was slightly darker than her usual winter pallor. She was benignly pretty, not the sort to stop traffic or be considered a raving beauty. Looking at her, Harry could see traces of her family in her hair, her eyes, even in the curve of her lips.

So why was he staring?

As he watched, Ginny shook herself slightly, blinked a few times and licked her lips. Harry jumped as though someone had just dug a wand into his side. An uncomfortable wave of heat was building in his belly and he could feel a flush rising on his cheeks. When Ginny turned her attention to him, he tried to act as if he hadn't just spent twenty minutes studying her face but he couldn't tear his eyes away.

"Have you ever heard of…. What? Do I have ink on my face?" Ginny asked as she raised a hand to rub at her nose.

"No, I was just thinking about something. Sorry. I didn't realize I was staring," Harry replied, relieved that his voice hadn't wavered. 

Ginny looked at him queerly but let the matter drop. She opened her book again and asked, "What do you know about Pensieves? There's a section here about manipulation of memories but, never having seen one work, I don't really understand what it means."

Harry cleared his throat as he tried to collect his thoughts. He told Ginny all he could remember about his trip into Dumbledore's Pensieve. He described the way the courtroom looked and the conversations he had overheard. Ginny interrupted a few times with questions, mostly ones that Harry could not answer, either because he didn't know or because telling her would raise questions about his other Pensieve trip, the one he hadn't even told Hermione and Ron about.  They traded theories about the background memories for a while, but quickly moved on as neither of them actually knew how a Pensieve worked.

At some point, although Harry wasn't exactly sure when it had happened, Ginny moved to sit next to him. The book was spread across both their laps and Ginny was pointing out a complicated looking formula. Harry couldn't make heads or tails of it, so she patiently explained the significance of each variable.

"Look, this symbol here usually stands for a measure of time," she said. "In this equation, it is multiplied by the rune _Algiz, which indicates a sanctuary for meditative thought. In simple Arithmantic terms, this part of the equation tells us that the Pensieve allows the viewer to observe a specific memory rather than interact with it. Which we knew already. Where it starts to get confusing is over here –" she pointed to another section "– in this part. I've never seen these symbols used this way before, but I recognize some of them."_

Harry turned his head to look at her as she named the runes she recognized. Her brow was furrowed slightly as she concentrated. He fought a sudden urge to reach over and smooth out the wrinkles in her forehead. Without intending to, he lowered his gaze until he was once more staring at her mouth as she spoke. Pressure built in his throat as he watched her lips move. After a moment, Harry realized with a jolt that she had stopped talking and was now facing him. He raised his eyes to hers and felt a flush creeping up his cheeks again.

She was looking at him with a slightly unfocussed gaze. The barest hint of red swept across her face as he watched. She licked her lips quickly, almost nervously. Harry felt himself do the same. He suddenly felt oddly detached from his own body, which was leaning closer and closer to Ginny. He could feel her breath feathering across his mouth and heard the slight hitch in her breathing.

There were only a scant few inches separating them when the door suddenly flew open and Hermione swept in, talking a mile a minute over her shoulder. Harry and Ginny sprang away from each other as she stopped just inside the door, causing Ron to nearly run her over. Harry felt the pressure in his throat increase to the point that he felt he was choking. His face went completely crimson and he could see Ginny out of the corner of his eye, fumbling with the book that was slipping off her lap. She ducked her head and stared at the carpet.

Hermione untangled herself from Ron, who had thrown his arms around her in an effort to keep them both from falling to the floor. She flopped down on the opposite bench and looked from Harry to Ginny with the barest hint of a smirk on her face. "So," she drawled, "what were you two doing in here?"

"Nothing!" Harry nearly shouted.

"Studying!" Ginny blurted at the same time.

Ron looked at them, suspicious, but was easily distracted when Harry mentioned the upcoming Quidditch season. As Ron launched into a lengthy diatribe about practices and Angelina's Wood-like attitude, Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He avoided Hermione's questioning gaze and concentrated on keeping a constant conversation with Ron for the rest of the trip. He was acutely aware of Ginny's presence less than a foot away but resolutely forced himself to not let his gaze wander to her again.

As the train slowed to a stop, Harry was feeling rather proud of his self-control. He had only glanced at Ginny once every few minutes, rather than every five seconds as he wanted to. Buoyed by this success, Harry turned to offer to carry her trunk down to the platform. Ginny raised her face to his when he started to speak, but gave him a strange look and walked away when the words died in his throat. 

_That's why I can't stop looking at her_, he thought. _She looks like home._

~

Harry became aware of his surroundings slowly. The few students who were in the Library this early were packing their books away and drifting off to their classes. Harry shoved his own school things into his bag and rose from his seat. He hadn't even managed to uncap his inkwell before he'd gotten wrapped up in memories.

Angry with himself for allowing thoughts of Ginny to distract him _again, Harry stalked to the exit and made his way down to the dungeons, berating himself the whole way. He met Ron outside the Potions classroom and waved off his profuse apologies for oversleeping._

"S'okay. I couldn't sleep anyway," he said as they walked in together. "We'll just have to check it out later."

Ron started to reply, but Hermione shushed him as Snape swept into the room in his usual melodramatic fashion and started barking instructions. Harry soon forgot about the mysterious room, the crick in his neck and the impending meeting with Ginny as he concentrated on his brewing. He was determined not to draw Snape's attention in any way; he just wanted to get through the day, which was shaping up to be a bad one.

There was a sudden plume of smoke and the sound of coughing from the row behind him. Harry stirred his potion the requisite number of times then turned to watch Snape descend on Neville's workstation and start shouting. Neville merely waved his wand to clear his cauldron and started a fresh batch. Snape watched for a moment, arms folded over his narrow chest, and spoke quietly to Neville (Harry strained to hear the words but Snape was speaking too softly). He nodded at Neville's equally quiet response before gliding away. 

When he had gone, Neville looked at Harry and mouthed, _See? I told you. _

Harry shrugged and turned back to his own potion, which was a murky blue and smelled like rotting leaves. Satisfied with the progress of the mixture, he turned his attention to the steps he had copied into his notebook. He quickly lost himself in the intricate process and failed to notice the eyes marking his every move from the opposite end of the room.

~

A/N: Um, yeah. That part at the end of the flashback? I don't know where _that_ came from. Who knew Harry was so sappy?! But on the plus side, this is my longest chapter to date, so I guess fighting my muse would be sort of counterproductive. 

Super big giant hugs, kisses and chocolate bars to my reviewers! It's such a treat to get that 'review alert' email from FF.net. I promise, I will try to respond to everyone who has left a message or written to me personally. I got a little caught up in reality for the past few weeks. It won't happen again, I swear!


	6. A Word from the Author

Sorry to create any excitement as this isn't a proper update. Boy, writer's block is a real bitch, innit? It's been months since I even attempted to work on this story! I still have the rest floating around in my head, but Real Life has conspired to capture my full attention. 

Thanks awfully to the kind folks who recently checked to make sure I wasn't dead. I'm not and I anticipate a return to writing in the very near future. In the meantime, have you been following Rickfan37's continuing adventures of Snape and Co.? Or Arachne's Child's absolutely wonderful iDomina Rising/i, The Stars Hold Nine Serpents's intoxicating iDark Herbal/i, Silver Phoenix25's now-complete iBury the Hatchet/i and iPerfect World/i, Shadowycat's engaging iIs a Picture …/i series, or Elyse2's sweet iConnected/i? You haven't?!? Hurry! You're missing some bgreat/b stories. They're all currently housed here at FF.net, so you really don't have an excuse, do you?

--Ishie


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